LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CHIMES 



FOR 



CHURCH-OHILDREN. 



BY 



,.^ 



MARGARET J. PRESTON, 
u 



'^y OF CO/V(j^ 

DEC 9 1889 . 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK, 

No. 1334 CHESTNUT STREET. 



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COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK. 



ALL BIGHTS RESERVED. 



a- 2 



"Westcott a Thomson, 
Stcreotypers and Electrotypers, Philada. 









TO 
THE HAPPY MEMORY 

OP 

TWO LOVELY LITTLE SISTERS, 
JEANIE AND NELLIE. 



OOI^TENTS. 



PAGE 



The Children's Crusade 7 

Yussef's Kevenge 11 

The Pity of It 1^ 

The Leak in the Dyke 17 

A Lesson from the Street 21 

Nothing to Do 24 

The Unrecorded Smile 27 

The Happiest Christmas 29 

St. Theresa's Half-Pence 33 

Winning his Spurs 35 

The Four Eupees 39 

The Flowers that Laughed . 41 

The Boy's Grafts 43 

The Child Jesus 46 

The Silver Plate 49 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Knight Eupert 52 

At a Persian Well 58 

A Young Agassiz 61 

A Lapland Interior 63 

The Swallow's Mistake 65 

The Little Street-Musician 67 

The Hero of the Gun 69 

Willie-Wee's Grace 72 

The Puritan Cow 75 

Counting the Pennies 78 

A Fiddlestick's End 80 

My Mexican Parrot 82 

The Sphinx 85 

The Young Euler 87 

The Leopard-Cubs 94 

The Legend of St. George 97 

The Little Pilgrims 101 

Baby-Faith 104 

The Young Commentator 106 

Nutting 108 



CHIMES FOR CHURCH^CHILDREN. 



THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE. 

"XT^OU have read the marvelous story 

Of what happened so long ago, 
Away in the Rhenish country, 
In sight of the Alj^ine snow — 

How thousands of little children. 
With scallop and staff in hand, 

Like Peter-the-Hermit's pilgrims, 
Set forth for the Holy Land? 

With wonder they saw their fathers. 
For many and many a day, 

From hamlet and town and castle, 
March to the East away. 

7 



8 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

They had watched while they girt their armor, 
And followed, with sword and lance, 

As Godfrey de Bouillon led them 

Through the vineyards of sunny France, 

By mountain and sea and forest, 

Till, over the stormy wave. 
With weeping, they hailed the border 

Of the land they had come to save. 

"And why do they go?" they questioned 
Of the mothers, who sobbing said, 

"They go to wrest from the pagan 

The tomb where our Lord lay dead." 

And the thought in their young hearts kindled, 

" Let us do as our fathers do : 
Let us wear the cross on our shoulder. 

And help in the conquest too !" 

And so, on their strange, wild mission, 

As the legend tells, they went ; 
But He who could never lead them 

In the way He had not sent, 



THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE. 

Lifted them up in his pity 
(Misguided, and yet his own), 

And, instead of the tomb they sought for, 
Sent them to find his throne. 



Now, what is the tender lesson 

Wrapped up in the story so? 
And what can we learn from the children 

Who perished so long ago? 

For the sepulchre's sake, where only 
Three days the Redeemer lay, 

They were willing to face such peril 
As wasted their lives away. 

For a temple that is eternal, 

Where the living stones are piled — 

Each stone of the wondrous building 
The soul of a pagan child — 

Are there ten thousand children 

Willing to wear aright. 
For Christ and his cause and kingdom, 

The badge of the Red Cross knight — 



10 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Willing with prayers and offerings 
To gather in one strong band, 

And rescue the world, and make it, 
Henceforward, all holy land \ 



YUSSEF'S KEVENGE. 

THE fig-merchant's STORY. 

"XT^OU ask, O teacher, why I guard 

With such a careful eye 
This pile of stones? Sit on my mat, 
And I will tell you why. 

Three years ago — nay, scarce so much— 

I, with my panniers full 
Of early figs, one morning crossed 

The mountain to Stamboul. 

As up and down its gay bazaar 
I ^Dressed the crowds among, 

I stopped to hear a Frank who taught 
In mine own Turkish tongue. 

He told of Jesus — Him of whom 

I oft before had heard ; 
But never did my Koran seem 

To hold so sweet a word 

11 



12 CHIMES FOR CHUBCH-CHILDREN. 

About our Prophet. On my ear 

Fell it so strange, so new, 
That I was moved to buy the book 

And find if it were true. 

So back unto my mountain-home 

I bore it in my breast, 
And read and read it till it brought 

A wondrous inward rest. 

I ceased to name the Prophet's name, 

Cast my Koran away, 
Nor heeded the muezzin's cry, 

Nor spread my mat to pray. 

My neighbors questioned of the change, 
And watched wdth eyes askance; 

And when I told them how it came, 
I met their angry glance. 

One day, as in my olive-yard 
I toiled, they gathered round. 

And, shrieking Allah's name, with stones 
They felled me to the ground. 



YUSSEF'S REVENGE. 13 

They left me breathless, bleeding, stunned, 

As in their haste they fled, 
Half hoping that the infidel 

Who scorned the faith was dead. 

But God their vengeful purpose crossed, 

And spared, for Jesus' sake. 
The life that in their bitter hate 

They had essayed to take. 

And when my senses came again, 

With many a pain and groan 
I gathered in the robe they rent 

Each blood-bespattered stone. 

And bore it in my bosom home, 

That when there comes to be 
Here built a Christian church some day, 

As we shall surely see. 

Within its deep foundation laid 

Beneath this Islam sod 
Each stone baptized in blood may be 

A witness-stone for God. 



14 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Therefore, O teacher, wonder not 

As with a curious eye 
You see me guard these stones, since now 

You know the reason why. 



THE PITY OF IT. 

"piTE stood at the open window, 
His beautiful face and eye 
Aglow in the blazing sunset 

That crimsoned the western sky. 

With something akin to worship 
Transfigured he seemed to stand, 

Like one of Correggio's angels, 
A flower in his lifted hand. 

Only six golden summers 

Had darkened the boy's bright hair. 
And yet he would thrill with wonder 

At finding the world so fair. 

As the flame of the sunset deepened 
The flush on the mountain-tips 

I heard an unconscious murmur 
Ripple the parted lips; 

15 



16 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

"I wonder that God takes trouble 
To paint such a splendid sky! 
Not one of them cares to watch it — 
Not one of these passers-by. 

"Such color and light and beauty 
So scattered and flung abroad, 
Yet nobody turning to see it! 
How sorry I feel for God /" 



THE LEAK IN THE DYKE. 

"QUICK! Go, Katrina! vSeek the shore! 
^^ God grant that thou mayst see 
Tliy father's boat all safe afloat 
Upon the Zuyder Zee! 

" If there he be, then wave thy hands, 
And shout with all thy might, 
That he may know the rift doth show 
Some widening over-night. 

" Bid him bring tackle, oars and sails, 
All he and Hans can lift — • 
Oh, whatsoever they can find — 
To stuff* within the rift. 

" Haste, daughter ! All I could, I've done : 
And while thou art away 
I'll do the only thing that's left — 
I'll watch the beach, and pray. 
2 17 



18 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

"'Twas but a trickling rill at first. 
But now it gaping stands, 
And I can thrust within the crack 
Both of my outspread hands." 

Katrina sprung along the path. 
But, turning back, she said, 

With voice that had a ring of cheer, 
And lifted eye and head, 

" Take courage, mother ! God is great ; 
He rules on sea and land. 
And holds alway, by night and day, 
The waters in his hand. 

"I know that he hath power to keep 
The tide so swollen, down. 
We are his children: dost thou think 
He means to let us drown? 

" Pray on, and I will shout my best ; 

And by the time we're back, 

Somehow — O mother, I am sure — 

Somehow the leak will slack." 



THE LEAK IN THE DYKE. 19 

Svvift as a bird Katrina flew 

Across the stretch of sand, 
And found her father's fishing-smack 

Scarce fifty yards from land. 

Her hands upon her chubby cheeks 

She pressed on either side, 
And, loud and clear, her silvery voice 

Went echoing o'er the tide. 

The little craft was soon ashore: 

They caught up spar and pike. 
And on they rushed with breathless speed 

To reach the broken dyke. 

" Oh, Heinrich"— and the sobbing wife 
Clasped tight her husband's arm — 

"Thank God there's something stoics the leak, 
And we are safe from harm ! 

" A bit of broken mast, I think, 
Swirled by the current swift, 
Hath lodged against the sea-wall's side, 
And so hath wedged the rift." 



20 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Tired with her race, Katrina dropped 
Upon the windmill stair; 
" Nay, nay !" quoth she, half chidingly ; 
" I think it was thy i^rayerJ^ 



A LESSON FROM THE STREET. 

T PRESSED along the crowded street 

One winter day, 
Scarce conscious of the hurrying feet 

That thronged the way, 
When through the jarring, jangling noise, 

And rush and glare. 
Fell silvery soft a child's sweet voice: 

"Why need I care?" 

I turned to see whence came the words: 

There met my eyes 
A glance as clear as any bird's 

That skims the skies. 
Ah, ruby lips," I questioned, " may 

A stranger dare 
Ask wherefore to yourself you say, 

'Why need I care?'" 

21 



22 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

A little hand in mine she slid 

With trustful gaze, 
Threading as slowly as I did 

The peopled ways: 
" See ! in the street my roses lie 

All scattered there ; 
No wonder you should ask me why 

I need not care. 

"A jostling street-boy rudely shook 

Them far and wide ; 
And when with angry word and look 

I turned to chide, 
I thought, ' Why, we have flowers and flowers 

At home as rare,' 
For father says all his are ours ; 

So, need I care?" 

" Ah, child," I mused as I caressed 

Her hand in mine, 
" To one through wrack and loss oppressed, 

Without design 
You teach a lesson : from my grasp 

Hard fortunes tear 



A LESSON FROM THE STREET. 23 

Life's roses held with careless clasp, 
But need I care? 

"The rush of circumstance sweeps by, 

And wrenches so 
My treasures from my hand, and I 

Will let them go, 
Remembering that a home above 

Awaits me, where 
I'll find a Father's boundless love; 

So, need / care ?" 



NOTHING TO DO. 

T HAVE shot my arrows and spun my top 

And bandied my last new ball; 
I trundled my hoop till I had to stop, 

And I swung till I got a fall ; 
I tumbled my books all out of the shelves 

And hunted the pictures through ; 
I've flung them where they may sort themselves; 

And now I have nothing to do. 

The tower of Babel I built of blocks 

Came down with a crash to the floor; 
My train of cars ran over the rocks: 

I'll warrant they'll run no more; 
I've raced with Grip till I'm out of breath; 

My slate is broken in two, 
So I can't draw monkeys. I'm tired to death 

Because I have nothing to do! 
2i ■ 



NOTHING TO DO. 25 

The boys have gone to the pond to fish ; 

They bothered me, too, to go. 
But for fun like that I hadn't a wish, 

For I think it's mighty slow 
To sit all day at the end of a rod 

For the sake of a minnow or two. 
Or to land, at the farthest, an eel on the sod : 

I'd rather have nothing to do. 

Maria has gone to the woods for flowers, 

And Lucy and Rose are away 
After berries. I'm sure they've been out for 
hours ; 
I wonder what makes them stay? 
Ned wanted to saddle Brunette for me, 
But riding is nothing new; 
''I was thinking you'd relish a canter," said he, 
"Because you had nothing to do." 

I wish I was poor Jim Foster's son, 

For he seems so happy and gay. 
When his wood is chopped and his work all 

done, 
With his little half hour to play; 



26 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

He neither has books nor top nor ball, 
Yet he's singing the whole day through, 

But then, he never is tired at all, 
Because he has something to do! 



THE UNRECOKDED SMILE. 

"'-TTE wept.' So saith the evangelist, 
-^ Of Him, the Holy, Undefiled, 
Whom angels 'mid their chantings missed, 
Amazed. None ever said, ' He smiled.' 

"Why should he? Smiles betoken joy; 
But sin and woe and death sufficed 
All mortal sweetness to destroy 

Even for the human heart of Christ. 

" He, for the bliss to be revealed, 

Wrapped Godhead up in clay, and kept 
Its light ineffable concealed. 

The while he walked this earth and wept." 

Thus spake the preacher. Softly shy, 

A child close-caught her mother's hand. 
Strong protest flashing in her eye, 
Her lips apart with quick demand: 

27 



28 CHIMES FOB CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

"Does not the Gospel clearly say — 

Who reads St. Matthew's page may see — 
That little children left their play 
To come and sit upon his knee? 

"Would tears have drawn the happy child 
If tears had made those features dim? 
No, no! If Jesus had not smiled, 
The children had not come to him." 



THE HAPPIEST CHRISTMAS. 

' rpWAS Christmas-tide. With tales and talk 
That never seemed to tire, 
The children, gay with holiday, 
Sat round the blazing fire. 

They told of many a prank and game, 

And many a Christmas past, 
And questioned me if this would be 

As merry as the last. 

"Of all your Christmas-times," I said, 
" So rich in mirth and fun, 
I beg that you each tell me true 
Which was the happiest one." 

Sweet Bessie turned her radiant face 
With wondering gaze on me: 
"My Christmas days have been always 
As glad as glad could be." 

20 



30 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Then merry Mabel shook her curls 

Loose from the 'prisoning comb: 

" Oh, mine was when papa and Ben 

And you and Bess came home." 

Ben chuckled : " 'Twas the time I had 
With crackers such a lark; 

I popped and popped, and never stopped 
From daylight until dark." 

" That was the best," laughed Willoughby, 
"Of any that I know. 
When Roan and Bay upset the sleigh, 
And drowned us in the snow. 

"Such fun it was to see the girls, 

And hear them shriek and shout — 
To search and sift the ten-foot drift 
Until we fished them out!" 

"And I," lisped little Dimple-cheek, 

A-tiptoe in her glee, 
"Was happiest when I counted ten 

Dolls on my Christmas tree." 



THE HAPPIEST CHRISTMAS. 31 

The soft-eyed Sophie silent sat, 

Nor yet had said a word, 
Though I could see some memory 

Her tender bosom stirred. 

"What is it, darling?" and I kissed 

The lids that veiled the blue; 
" Tell me, I pray, what Christmas day 

Brought greatest joy to you." 

The eyes she raised to mine were filmed 

With something like a tear ; 
And sweet and low she answered, so 

That I could scarcely hear: 

" Last Christmas day, with all my gifts 
Upon the window-seat, 
I watched right long the merry throng 
Of people in the street. 

" And as I watched, there stood a group 
Of ragged girls and boys 
Before the pane, their eyes a-straiu 
With wonder at my toys. 



32 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

"Poor little foreign wanderers! 
My eyes began to fill : 
I could not bear to see them there, 
So sad and wan and chill. 

" I swept my toys into my lap, 
And, with a tap and call, 
Opened the door and bade the four 
Come to me in the hall. 

" They held their aprons, stretched their hands ; 
And oh, it was a sight, 
As out I poured my Christmas hoard, 
To see their wild delight! 

" Each Christmas, as it passed, has seemed 
More happy than the rest, 
But, of them all, I think I'd call 
That one the very best." 



ST. THERESA'S HALF-PEl^CE. 

TN a cell of her quiet cloister 

Theresa, the novice, knelt. 
And poured, in a mourn of sorrow, 
The pitiful grief she felt. 

For life, with its sharp seductions, 

Its bitterness, toil and pain. 
Its pleasures that seemed so mocking, 

Its laughter that seemed so vain, — 

Had sickened her heart with sadness, 

And driven her forth to find 
In the depth of the silent cloister, 

That solace for which she pined. 

But the thought of the poor and wretched. 

The lost and erring, lay 
Like a weight on her tender spirit. 

That troubled her night and day. 

3 33 



34 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDBEN. 

"I sit in my blissful musings, 

And prayerfully draw sweet breath, 
While those I have left behind me 
Are pressing their way to death. 

"I dare not be happy, seeing 

God's mercy and wrath so braved; 
I dare not in calm content me 
That only imj soul is saved. 

" Yet what can I do to help them ? 
And where have I strength to win 
Their hearts from the woes and sorrows, 
Their feet from the paths of sin? 

"And what can I give the weary 
To lighten their burdens sore, 
Since only a single half-pence 

Is left of my home-brought store? 

" Ah ! nothing can I and a half-pence 
Accomplish, however small — 
Nay, nothing ; but God and a half-pence 
Can compass and conquer all!" 



WINNING HIS SPURS * 

Scene : Mount Vernon, a. d. 1796. 

" TT7"ELL, since it is your birthday, boy, 
And you are keen to know 
If you may ride at Calvert's side, 
I ^ive you leave to go. 

" Fifteen to-day ! 'Tis time, forsooth, 
That you should act your part. 
And take your place amid the chase. 
And learn the hunter's art. 

" My Lady will be proud to see 
Your dappled deerskin flung 
Down in the hall, and on the wall 
Your forest-trophies hung. 

* An incident in the Hfe of George Custis, the step-grandson 
of Washington. 

35 



36 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

"So saddle Blueskin* for he paws 
Impatient in the stall ; 
But leave you — mind! — buckshot behind, 
And load your gun with ball. 

"Bring down the gray old stag that haunts 
The ridge beyond the firs ; 
And if you play the man to-day, 
I think you'll win your spurs." 

Off dashed the lad at Calvert's side. 

And soon the merry pack 
Of hounds, set free, with frantic glee 

Came yelj)ing at his back. 

For many an hour they beat the woods. 

Till at the last they spied 
The buck at feed amid the firs, 

Close to the water's side. 

One moment, and with headlong leap 
He cleared the grassy bank, 

And nothing but his antlers' tips 
Could tell them where he sank. 

* Washington's favorite "hunter." 



WINNING HIS SPURS. 37 

The boy plunged after: Calvert gave 

Too late the warning shout, 
For horse and rider swam mid-stream, 

And would not turn about. 

The panting stag had scarcely set 

His foot on solid ground, 
Ere Blueskin, following at his heels, 

Sprang forward with a bound. 

The tossing antlers onward rushed, 

Then, with a sudden start. 
Sank ; the young hunter's hand had sent 

A bullet throuo-h his heart. 



Mount Vernon's dinner-hour was near, 
And noble guests were there, 

Who gathered in a stately group 
Around the General's chair. 

In sprang the stripling : " Sir, the buck 
Lies in the court-yard, dead ! 

Oh, such a splendid dappled skin. 
And such an antlered head! 



38 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

"And Blueskin — never horse behaved 
More gallantly before — 
He swam with me across the bend, 
Straight on from shore to shore!" 

Close to his side the General drew 
The lad : " What say you, sirs ? — ■ 

And you, My Lady? — Has the boy 
Not bravely won his spurs?"* 

*The antlers of this stag hung for many years in the hall at 
Arlington. 



THE FOUR RUPEES. 

A GIFT has come to us over seas — 
"^^ A gift of beautiful, bright rupees ; 
And who, do you think, has sent us these ? 



Was it one of the Rajahs, rich and grand, 
Who live in that wonderful, far-off land — 
The land of simoon and sun and sand ? 

Or was it some Brahmin who has thrown 

For ever away his gods of stone. 

And worships the Christians' God alone? 

Or was it the Viceroy who controls 

The destiny of those million souls 

From Kyber to where the Hooghly rolls? 

Nay, none of them all — nay, none of these — 
Has sent this royalty of rupees 
From that strange sun-land over seas. 



40 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Who was it, then ? Listen, and I will tell ; 
For surely 'tis something to ponder well 
Till the truth of it makes our bosoms swell. 

'Twas an eight-year-old, brown-faced Hindu lad, 
Made gift of the four rupees he had, 
To help us at home; for he was sad 

Because he had heard his teachers' fear 
That the work of the children over here 
Might wane with the waning of the year. 

And therefore he brought his four rupees, 
And eagerly whispered, " Sahib, please 
Send this for the work beyond the seas." 

Christ save this orphan who of his store 
Gave all to aid us, and may his four 
Rupees increase to a thousand more! 



THE FLOWERS THAT LAUGHED. 

« T WENT to the garden this morning," 
-^ Our darling of darlings said, 

With a gurgle of rippling music 
And a twitch of her flossy head : 

« I went to the garden early 

(The thing that I say is true) ; 
The flowers were washing their faces 
From buttercups filled with dew. 

" The violets hardly had wakened ; 

The bluebells were ringing a tune ; 
The roses Avere leaning together 
And telling each other, ' It's June !' 

" The white of the lilies seemed whiter 
Than ever I saw it before; 
But the tulips were all in a fidget 
Because there were bees at their core. 

41 



42 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN, 

"The hollyhocks surely were angry, 
So stiffly they stood, and so tall ; 
For how could the breadth of such faces 
Be washed in a basin so small? — 

"When I came to the bed where the pansies 
Were turning to meet the light, 
I stood, and I watched them with wonder: 
I never had seen such a sight. 

" They laughed fit to kill themselves — laughing 
And winking their eyes at me, 
Till I thought they would die a-laughing; 
So I must go back and see." 



THE BOY'S GKAFTS. 

" "rpATHER, can you tell me why, 

Though I graft from day to day, 
Cutting carefully away 
From the juicy slips, the wood, 
Till I find it firm and good — 
Why my grafts should wilt and die ? 

" All my buds are fresh, I know ; 
Rind and edge I smoothly pare. 
Joining them with nicest care, 
Winding closely, in and out. 
With my ' bass ' the wax about ; 
Yet my scions do not grow. 

" See this stock of Muscadine, — 
Well, I did my best to graft 
Concord on it, though you laughed, 

43 



44 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN, 

Saying that you didn't think 

It could make me drunk to drink 

All its future yield of wine. 

"What's the matter? Tell me where 
In my work I've gone astray; 
Point me out a surer way 
How the cleft and wedge to use, 
How my cuttings best to choose, 
How the hardier bark to pare." 

" Ay, my boy, your buds are set 
Somewhat with a gardener's skill, 
AVhich I praise you for; but still 
There is other toil to add. 
Don't you see your grafts have had 
Not one drop of water yet? 

" Look ! the soil is parched and dry, 
When it should be mellowed fine, 
Kound your stock of Muscadine ; 
When no moisture damps the root 
To revive the drooping shoot, 
Is it strange your buds should die? 



THE BOY'S GRAFTS. 45 

Here's a lesson, too : although 
I may graft upon your youth 
Living slips of heavenly truth, 
If your heart-soil shows no trace 
Of the softening dews of grace, 
Then my graftings will not grow." 



THE CHILD JESUS. 

A LL placid and lonely the village 
Of Nazareth slejot on the plain: 
No husbandman toiled at the tillage 

Nor reaped the ripe ears of the grain; 
No vine-dressers wrought at their labors 

Nor passed with their pruning-hooks by: 
The slopes were as silent as Tabor's, 
And Tabor was still as the sky. 



No voices of innocent riot 

In market-place, hostel or hut ; 
The hum of the craftsman was quiet, 

The door of the synagogue shut. 
No alephs and beths were heard swelling 

From the school of the scribe by the wall, 
And Joseph the carpenter's dwelling 

Was hushed as the publican's stall. 

46 



THE CHILD JESUS. 47 

'Twas the week of the Passover ; only 

The aged, the sickly, the blind, 
The tottering children, and lonely 

Young mothers had tarried behind. 
To the sacredest feast of the nation, 

Through the paths that their fathers had trod, 
All others, with paschal oblation, 

Had gone to the city of God. 

And Mary, to every beholder 

Her face toucht with wistfulest dole 
(Remembering what Simeon had told her 

Of the sword that should pierce through her 
soul), 
With faith yet too steadfast to falter, 

Though sorely with mysteries tried, 
'Midst the worshipers stood at the altar. 

With Jesus the Child by her side. 

The seven days' festival ended, 

Rites finished for people and priest, 

The throngs from the temple descended 
And homeward set face from the feast. 



48 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

And neighbor held converse with neighbor, 
Unwonted and simple and free, 

As northward they journeyed toward Tabor, 
As westward they turned to the sea. 

But not till the night-dews were falling 

Did Mary, oft questioning, find. 
As children to children were calling, 

That Jesus had lingered behind. 
He vex her — the mother that bore him? 

Or veiled it some portent or sign? 
For oft had she trembled before him. 

Her human too near his Divine. 

She sought 'midst her kinsfolk, whose pity 

Grew tender to look on her grief; 
Then back through the streets of the city 

She hastened, yet found not relief 
Thus searching, a marvelous story 

Her ear and her senses beguiled : 
" The rabbis, gray-bearded and hoary, 

In the temple are taught by a child." 



THE SILVER PLATE. 

n^HEY passed it along from pew to pew, 

And gathered the coins, now fast, now few, 
That rattled upon it; and every time 
Some eager fingers would drop a dime 
On the silver plate with a silver sound, 
A boy who sat in the aisle looked round 
With a wistful face : " Oh, if only he v 
Had a dime to offer, how glad he'd be !" 
He fumbled his pockets, but didn't dare 
To hope he should find a penny there. 

He had listened with wide-set, earnest eyes 
As the minister, in a plaintive wise. 
Had spoken of children all abroad 
The world who had never heard of God — • 
Poor pitiful pagans who didn't know, 
When they came to die, where their souls 
would go, 

4 49 



50 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

And who shrieked with fear when their moth- 
ers made 
Them kneel to an idol-god, afraid 
He might eat them up, so fierce and wild 
And horrid he seemed to the frightened child. 



And the more the minister talked, the more 
The boy's heart ached to its inner core; 
And the nearer to him the silver plate 
Kept coming, the harder seemed his fate 
That he hadn't a penny (had that sufficed) 
To give, that the heathen might hear of Christ. 
As they offered the piled-up plate to him 
He blushed and his eyes began to swim. 



Then, bravely turning, as if he knew 

There was nothing better that he could do, 

He spoke iii a voice that held a tear : 

Put the plate on the bench beside me here;" 

And the plate was placed, for they thought he 

meant 
To empty his pockets of every cent. 



THE SILVER PLATE. 51 

But lie stood straight up, and he softly put 
Right square in the midst of the plate, his foot, 
And said, with a sob controlled before, 
I will give myself: I have nothing more!" 



KNIGHT KUPEKT. 

A CHRISTMAS MASQUE. 

(^Children singing a Christmas carol.) 
r^ IVE it welcome ! Give it cheer ! 

Chant it in with carols clear! 
Happiest night of all the year — 
Merry Christmas eve ! 

Gladdest night that ever came, 
Night of nights we children claim, 
In the blessed Christ-Child's name — 
Holy Christmas eve. 

Let us think with love and awe 
Of the sight the shepherds saw — 
Christ, a baby in the straw — 
That first Christmas eve. 

Christmas greetings, Christmas fare, 
Be for his dear sake the share 

52 



KNIGHT RUPERT. 53 

Of all children everywhere 
On this Christmas eve! 

(^A Lady in an antique garb enters.) 
Lady. 
Now that the Christmas bells have rung, 
Now that your carol has been sung, 
Off for the Yule-log ! Drag it in 
Out of the snow, where it has been 
Waiting all day with cedars bound. 
Quick ! Let the curling blaze surround 
Birch-trunk and bark. The Yule-night cheer 
Cannot begin till the Yule-log's here. 

(^Children bear in the log, singing.) 

Hearth-room for it — this new-comer, 
Miser of the wealth of summer. 
Rained on, blown on, shined on, snowed on, 
Fit to grace the hall of Woden, 
With the sap of many a winter 
Making fragrant every splinter. 
Hearth-room for it, till the racket 
Underneath its birchen jacket 



54 CHIMES FOB CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Tells us, snapping, sparkling, humming, 
A new Christmas eve is coming! 

( Children pile the log in the fireplace.) 

Lady. 
Go bring us the brand we laid away, 
Kept from the log last Christmas day. 
Is it heated aright till its centre glows 
Like the flaming heart of an August rose? 

(^Children shout in chorus.) 

Yes, yes ! we lighted it. High and higher 
It blazes now on the roaring fire! 

Lady. 

Haste, then, and bear the brand along 

With clapping of hands, and dance and song. 

(^Children bring in the branch and light the log, 
singing.) 

Kindle, kindle, surely, slowly — 
Kindle, kindle, with a holy 



KNIGHT BUPERT. 55 

Christmas lustre intertwining, 
Like the star of Bethlehem's shining. 
Gayly, warmly, brightly, holy, 
Kindle, Yule-log ! kindle slowly ! 

Lady. 

And now, as the blaze leaps high and tall, 
Be seated and w^atch it, one and all. 
And quietly listen while we wait 
Knight Rupert's approach. He keeps us late, 
But then he has many a place to go. 
And it's tiresome traveling thro' the snow. 
Knight Eupert'':^ You say you never heard 
Of good Knight Rupert ? No, not a word ? 
Why, darlings, if all his affairs go right, 
I'll promise you'll see him here to-night. 

Children. 
But we want Santa Klaus ! Christmas cheer 
Is spoiled if Santa Klaus is not here. 

Lady. 
Well, well, I'm bidden to tell you, dears, 
Santa Klaus, who these dozen years 



56 CHIMES FOR CKUBCH-CHILDREN. 

Has never forgotten you, has a call 

To the other side of the world — that's all ; 

So he sends his brother instead, who'll be 

As kind in his way, and as good, as he. 

He hasn't, it's true, a team of deer, 

But his seven-league boots will bring him here 

Like a lightning-flash. And don't you know 

(I told you the story long ago) 

That he is a fairy-knight — the one 

Who brings from the Land of the Midnight Sun 

The beautiful Christmas trees, so bright, 

With hundreds of candles all alight. 

And the Christ-Child hovering sweet and fair 

Above, like an angel in the air, 

To keep us in mind that every joy. 

From the greatest gifts to the smallest toy, 

All the round of life from rim to rim. 

Is guarded, bestowed and blest by him ? 



There's something I mustn't forget to say 
About Knight Kupert: From Christmas day 
Last year, till the hour the Yule-log glows 
To-night, this magical being knows 



KNIGHT RUPERT. 57 

What sort of a child you — every one — 
Have been from the rise to the set of sun. 
For you who were loving and good and true, 
Oh, wonderful presents he brings to you ; 
For you who were selfish and bad, you'll see, 
There's nothing but rods on the Christmas tree. 

Hark \ There is his step ! I'm sure I know 
The sound as it crunches the frozen snow. 
Stir the Yule-log up! In a moment more 
He will scrape his boots, and will fling the door 
AVide open upon us. Now, girls and boys. 
Be quiet : he doesn't like a noise ; 
You mustn't so much as twirl your thumbs, 
For fear of disturbing him. Here he comes ! 

(^The door is flung hack, and a snow-besprinkled, 
hooded old man with a wand in his hand, appears be- 
side a lighted Christmas tree, over which floats suspended 
a waxen Christ- Child.) 



AT A PEKSIAN WELL. 

OHE comes to the well for water, 
Her jar on her shoulder slung, 
Just as the Eastern maidens 

Came when the world was young — 
Just as the Hebrew Rachel 

Stood in the even-glow, 
Poising her earthen pitcher, 

Three thousand years ago. 

Her eyes have the misty softness 

Of the shadowy Persian hills, 
And her laughter ripples over 

Her lips, as she stoops and fills 
Her jar from the sparkling surface 

That her plashes all disturb, 
As she draws from the depth her burden 

And swings it to the curb. 
58 



AT A PERSIAN WELL. 59 

And liglitly aloft she lifts it 

As a trifle of childish play, 
And steadies it on her shoulder, 

And walks in her grace away 
With a step as secure and stately, 

With as lofty an air and mien. 
As down through the golden story 

Walks Esther, the Persian queen. 



Does she know of the living Fountain, 

This maiden of whom we tell? 
Has she listened to Christ's sweet teachings 

As she sits at the mouth of the well? 
Does she ask with an eager longing. 

As she hears of his holy law, 
"Give me of this living water. 

That I come not hither to draw"? 



" The well is deep," we answer ; 
"Yet ours is the crystal cup 
Of sacred and steady effort 
That shall bring the water up, 



60 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN, 

Till many a Persian maiden 

The freshening draught shall drain 

From a sweeter than Sychar's fountain, 
And never shall thirst again." 



A YOUNG AGASSIZ. 

T'M tired of every sort of play, 
And, as it's pleasant weather, 
We'll go and spend our holiday — 
The birds and I — ^together. 

I'll sling my lunch-box on my back; 

And when I've been the winner 
Of specimens enough, I'll slack 

My search, and eat my dinner. 

There'll be so many nests to find, 

If I can only see 'em, 
And butterflies of every kind 

To catch for my museum. 

I'll wander up and down the brook 
That through the w^oods is flowing. 

And in the shadiest spots I'll look 
If any ferns are growing. 

61 



62 CHIMES FOB CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

And of such mussel -shells I'll come 
To be the proud possessor 

As well might strike with envy dumb 
Some college-bred professor. 

I'll hunt for trilobites with eyes, 
Such as my biggest brother 

Once found, and reckoned such a prize 
I can't have any other. 

And when no specimen I've missed 
Of treasures that would kindle 

The zeal of any naturalist — 
A Huxley or a Tyndale — 

I'll lay my lunch-box on the grass, 
And in the pleasant weather 

The friendly birds and I will pass 
The happy noon together, 

And of my dinner (if I foil 
Asleep before I'm through it) 

Grasshoppers, birds, bees, squirrels — all- 
May eat, and welcome to it. 



A LAPLAND INTERIOR. 

A PICTURE. 
I. 

T^IDN'T you feel a sudden strain 

Tug at your heart-strings like a pain 
When you were standing all a-gaze, 
One of those blissful autumn days, 
Under a sky of cloudless blue, 
Soaked with the sunshine through and through, 
Looking with curious eyes, perhaps, 
Over that group of fur-clad Lapps? 
Didn't you feel, as you turned away. 
Shadows were round you all the day, 
Cast by their figures everywhere. 
Making you sigh, " How sad they were !" 
Just as if merriment, play-time, joy, 
Never had come to them, girl or boy. 
Living in pitiful patience so. 
Poor "Little People of the Snow"? 

63 



64 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

II. 

Weren't you sorry to think how few 
Pleasures they have the whole year through — 
You with your glad skies overhead, 
They with their skies of sombre lead; 
You with your forests fresh and bright, 
They with their j3ine-paths always white ; 
You with your banks that the flowers emboss, 
They with their lichens, cones and moss ; 
You with your birds from all the climes. 
They with their faint frost-tingled chimes;* 
You with your meadows grassy green. 
They with their wastes of icy sheen ; 
You with your brooks of silver hum. 
They with their streamlets frozen dumb ; 
You in your dear, sweet, warm home shut, 
They in their huddled birch-bark hut? 
Is it so strange, then, they are sad, 
Is it a wonder that you are glad — 
Glad even while you whisper low. 
Poor "Little People of the Snow"? 

* The traveler in Lapland constantly hears a fairy-like mu- 
sic made by the frost-crystals with which the air is filled. 



THE SWALLOW'S MISTAKE. 

T AVAS watching the drip of the rain to-day. 
From the eaves, as a swallow with shreds of 
hay 
Flew in, and I'm certain I heard him say 

To the one in the nest, with his head aside, 
And a gurgle of throat, and his bill set wide 
(The pairing was over and she was a bride) : 

" Our wedding-journey, I thought, my dear, 
Would end where the skies were soft and clear, 
For March was over and April here; 

" So, under the myrtles, I believed 
It was Spring in the North. I am sore deceived ; 
And is it a wonder my heart is grieved? 

" I pined for the apple-tree boughs so bright 
Close under the eaves, with blossoms white. 
Where, a fledgling, I crooned with young de- 



light. 



65 



36 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDBEN. 

" Such a nest we would fashion and softly line, 
Both working there under the golden shine, 
So glad, for the nest would be yours and mine. 

" A swallow's vain dreaming ! No leaves I see, 
No pink in the buds on the apple tree. 
If this is their April, what March must be ! 

"The showers are darkening the east and west; 
The drizzle is wetting our half-lined nest, 
And the damp wind ruffles your downy breast ; 

" The keen winds rustle and roar and sting ; 
Like bullets the raindrops pelt my wing: 
What business has this to be called the Spring? 

'' Come ! Let us go back where the sun has sway, 
Where, hid in the myrtles, we'll coo, and stay 
Till April hands over the Spring to May." 



THE LITTLE STREET-MUSICIAK 

WRITTEN FOR A PICTURE. 



"TX7"EAE,Y with wandering all day long, 

Saddened with singing her homesick song, 
Jostled about the crowded street, 
Faint from the lack of food to eat. 
Choked with the tears that will not let 
Fall from her heavy lashes yet, 
Strumming her small guitar to make 
Music, until her fingers ache, — 
Under the lamp-post now she lies, 
Utterly weary, while her eyes 
Suddenly droop in slumber deep. 
Poor little tired one! let her sleep. 

67 



68 CHIMES FOB CHURCH-CHILDREN. 



11. 

Oft, as she trudges with her guitar, 
Looking above to the sky so far, 
Feeling all day the street's rude stir, 
Never a pitiful glance for her — 
Never a tender word of cheer 
Dropt on the lonely exile's ear — 
Doesn't she sometimes wish the blue 
Only would open and let her through, 
Flying away like a loosened bird 
Up to the Father of whom she'd heard? 
Poor little tired one ! Never mind ! 
He will remember you : he is kind — 
Kinder than any you ever meet 
Toiling along the stony street. 
Hark ! There are gentle voices now 
Breathing above you ; on your brow 
Somebody lays the softest touch: 
Somebody pities you — oh how much ! 
Wake ! there's a sweet surprise in store ; 
Wake! you are never to wander more. 



THE HERO OF THE GUN. 

nPHE captain galloped to the front, 

The foam upon his rein, 
And as he urged his swerving steed 
Across a pile of slain, 

He hailed the gunner at his post : 
" Ho, Fergus ! Pour your shell 

Straight in the face of yon stout line 
That holds the height so well ; 

" And never slack your raking fire — 
No, not to cool your gun ; 
For if we break those stubborn ranks, 
I think the day is won." 

The gunner wiped his smoke-dimmed face: 

" I'll do the best I can. 
And down — brave fellows though they be — 

We'll bring them, to a man !" — 

69 



70 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

«*ril trust you for it!" Like a flash, 
The captain turned and wheeled, 
And with his sword above his head 
Dashed backward to the field. 

Fierce belched the cannon's ceaseless fire 

With deadly crash and din, 
And, though the line still held the height, 

Its ranks began to thin. 

" Two rounds, and we will clear the hill !" 
But, as the gunner spoke, 
A sudden overwhelming storm 
Of bullets o'er him broke. 

And when the smoke had lifted, there, 

Still straining all his powers. 
They heard him shout : " Two shots, my boys. 

And then the day is ours ! 

"No matter if one arm be gone, 
I keep the other still; 
I promised I would do my best, 
And so, you'll see, I will! 



THE HERO OF THE GUN. 71 

"Let me make trial while my strength 
Can do the duty set; 
I tell you that this strong left hand 
Is good for service yet!" 

They primed the piece, and twice he sent, 

With all too deadly aim. 
The shells that mowed the broken line 

And swept the hill with flame. 

" Where's Fergus f and the captain's horse 

Came spurring into sight; 
" Wliere's Fergus f Let him take my thanks : 

His fire has won the fight!" 

The dying gunner raised his head; 
His lips were faintly stirred: 
" Captain, I said I'd do my best. 
And I have kept my word." 



WILLIE-WEE'S GRACE. 

TTE wasn't two yeiirs old, you see; 

He couldn't utter well 
A single word, this Willie- Wee, 
Of whom I'm going to tell. 

Yet if you gave him something good, 

He always tried to say 
His " Thank you, 7na'am" as best he could, 
In pretty baby-way. 

And, kneeling by his little bed 

In gown of dainty white. 
He shut his great blue eyes and said 

" Our Father" every night. 

One morning, when the bell for prayers 

Had summoned all the house, 
He glided down the nursery stairs 

As softly as a mouse. 

72 



WILLIE-WEE'S GRACE. 73 

" Hi, honey ! wliah you gwine widout 
You' liy'ar been smooven down?" 
His mammy* cried. "The chile's about 
Some mischief, I'll be boun'. 

" Come back dis minit, till I put 
You' shoes an' stockin's on," 
She shouted down the passage, but 
The runaway was gone. 

And to himself she heard him say, 
As muttering on he went, 
"Papa away! Papa away!" 

And wondered what he meant. 

Into the breakfast-room he pressed. 

Mounted his father's chair, 
And gravely waited till the rest 

Came in from morning prayer. 

And when mamma and sisters three 

Had taken, each, her place. 
And paused a moment, quietly, 
To say their silent "grace," 
*The appellation of Southern children for their nurses. 



74 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

His head our Willie- Wee low bowed, 
And, folding palm to palm, 

Shut close his eyes, and said aloud, 
" Our Fader, t'ank 'ou, ma^am." 



THE PURITAN COW. 

On Boston Common. A. D. 1760. 

npHE dear little Lettice was sorrowful : word 
Had come that Griselda ('twas Ralph who 
had heard 
The news on the Common) — Griselda was found 
So trespassing that they had put her in pound; 
Griselda, as patient and pretty a cow 
As ever had eaten her hay from a mow. 

" To think," exclaimed Lettice, " how hurt she will 
be! 

For no one has tenderer feelings than she. 

She always has held up her beautiful head 

Right proudly, but now she will hang it in- 
stead — 

Come, Ralph ; let us go to her. Don't you sup- 
pose 

I could soothe her a little by stroking her nose ?" 

75 



76 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

" How just like a girl that is, Lettice ! I vow, 
I thought her a very high-principled cow — 
Above all such meanness as pasturing round 
On other folks' clover and getting in pound. 
Her feelings indeed ! What Fm thinking about 
Is how we can manage to bargain her out; 
The cost is ten shillings, and mother can spare 
Ten shillings but illy enough. I declare, 
Griselda, who ruminates often, I'm sure. 
Forgets she's the cow of a woman too poor 
To be shelling out shillings. But let us go round 
By the Common, and see if Griselda's in pound." 

So Lettice and Kalph to the pound took their 

way. 
And found the town-crier a-raking his hay. 
While patient Griselda looked over the wall, 
Her feelings not seemingly wounded at all. 
" You see, sir," said Lettice, a tear in her eye, 
"We thought that Griselda had principles high 
As we who had raised her ; so what must we feel 
To have it found out that Griselda will steal! 
We brought her up like a Christian, and now 
Who'd ever suppose her a Puritan cow ? 



THE PURITAN COW. 77 

** 'Twas evil companionship ! Minister Strong 
Has a brindle who leads her in ways that are 

wrong. 
But please let her out, sir ; you will not refuse 
If instead of the shillings I leave you my 

shoes ?" — 

" That shall you not, Lettice ; it would not be 
fair "— 
And Ralph stood up straight as a proud mil- 
lionaire — 
" For mother would grieve, and that never would 
do. 
I've two pair, and what does a boy want with 
two?" 

The crier stopped raking his hay while he took 
The key from his pocket, and, turning to look 
At the children, said kindly, " Nay, nay ! I'll be 

bound 
'Tis the last time Griselda gets into the pound; 
And, since you're so good to your mother, /'// pay 
The cost, little master, with some of my hay." 



COUNTING THE PENNIES. 

A H ! what shall I do with my pennies ? 
For, see, I have such a store ! 
I never have sold my basket 
Of walnuts so soon before. 

How often I've trudged for hours, 

And taken a secret cry 
Because I was tired and hungry, 

And nobody cared to buy! 

I dreaded to think how mother 
Would look as I came and said 

That 1 hadn't enough of pennies 
To bring her a loaf of bread — 

How Nellie, my little sister, 

Would watch at the door and say, 
" I've thought and I've thought of the apple 
You promised to bring, all day." 
78 



COUNTING THE PENNIES. 79 

But now I can fill my basket, 
For there's never a nut behind — 

One loaf, two loaves, and a dozen 
Of apples the sweetest kind. 

Five pennies — ten — fifteen — twenty — 

And thirty — and thirty-five ! 
Just think of it! Here are forty, 

As sure as I'm alive! 

It must have been God Avho helped me 

To sell ofi" my nuts so soon, 
Or else I'd been trudging, trudging, 

The whole of the afternoon. 

And how I would like to thank him, 

So kind he has been, so true 1 
I'll spare for his poorer children 

A few of my pennies, too. 



A FIDDLESTICK'S END. 

"TT7HEN I was a little one long ago, 

As sure as I wanted to do or know 
Some very absurd or silly thing, 
My beautiful mother would laugh and sing, 
" A fiddlestick for my bandbox /" 



And once, when I came from school one day. 
And sulked and pouted and Avouldn't play, 
Because Eose Budd's new ribbons were red 
And mine were an autumn brown, she said, 
" A fiddlestick for my bandbox !" 

And when Tom fretted about his sum, 
Declaring the answer would never come — 
No, not if he ciphered the whole night through- 
She patted his cheek, yet chaffed him too ; 
" A fiddlestick for my bandbox /" 
80 



A FIDDLESTICK'S END. 81 

And when wee Harry would sometimes cry 
For another piece of the oyster-pie, 
She neither would scold nor frown nor taunt, 
But knuckle her eyes and sob, " I want 
A fiddlestick for my bandbox /" 

And if we would bring her tales from school — 
How this or how that one broke the rule — 
Before we were through our gossip half, 
She was always sure to make us laugh 

With " Fiddlestick for mij bandbox /" 

So now, when my roysterers come to me, 
And clamor or pout around my knee, 
I quietly bend each sturdy will 
By singing the same old nonsense still : 
" A fiddlestick for my bandbox /" 
6 



MY MEXICAN PARROT. 

"pOOR crooning thing! as thou dost sit 

Wrapt in thy moody musing-fit, 
Heeding my presence not a whit, 

My sympathy, 
Touched by such mute appeals to it, 

Is moved for thee. 



What ails thee that thou wilt not speak, 
Nor take a crumb within thy beak, 
Nor let me stroke thy plumage sleek? 

And what is meant 
By that strange, melancholy shriek 

Of discontent? 



Perhaps thy thought — if th (.night thou hast- 
On airy pinion free and fast, 

82 



MY MEXICAN PARROT. 83 

Has borne thee back amidst the past, 

And on thy sight 
Breaks, dreamlike, all too sweet to last, 

Thy lost delight. 

Thy home before thee may arise 

Far under equatorial skies, 

When thou, unwatched by human eyes. 

Didst prate away, 
Amidst thy kindred's answering cries, 

The tropic day. 

Or thou art homesick, and thy ear 
Pines for the rolling of the clear 
Castilian thou wert wont to hear. 

So said, so sung. 
That Anglo-Saxon must appear 

A barbarous tongue. 

But, be the matter what it may. 
Forego these sullen moods, I pray. 
And crow and chatter all the day 

As parrot should: 
Nursing thy fancies in this way 

Will do no good. 



84 CHIMES FOR CHUBCH-CHILDBEN. 

What exile ever so caressed? 

What captive with such luxuries blessed ? 

So be content, and manifest 

In right degree, 
That cheerfulness which is the best 

PhilosojDhy. 



THE SPHINX. 

TTT'HAT does it mean with its stony stare, 

Fronting the daily sunrise there, 
Out in the lonely desert-land, 
Sunk in the drifts of yellow sand, 
Watching the ages gliding by 
With its serene and tranquil eye, 
Even as Pharaoh saw them so. 
Over three thousand years ago? 



Think you the makers meant to trace 
God in that grand colossal face? 
Could they have hewn those features strange. 
Token of Him who knows no change? 
Did they conceive a god could dwell 
Prisoned in granite? — Who can tell? 

Can it be hoarding the secret hid 
Under yon towering pyramid? 

85 



86 CHIMES FOB CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Can it be waiting until we spell 
Out the old riddle of which they tell? 
Or are the lips, so stony-stiff, 
Holding the key of the hieroglyph? 
What is the Sphinx? I wish I knew 
Something about it. — Child, don't youf 



THE YOUNG RULEK. 

"E had riches and ease and honor, 
And never a Jewish boy 
Had passed on the banks of the Jordan 
A childhood of purer joy. 



H^ 



He had houses and fields and vineyards, 
And blessings of all degree; 

None had a fairer portion 
In beautiful Galilee. 

Whatever this world could offer 

Of pure and innocent bliss, 
Whatever his nature needed 

Of goodliest gifts, was his. 

He had felt no weary longings, 
No wants that were unsupplied; 

Upright, and just, and noble. 
His spirit was satisfied. 

87 



88 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Only one thought had power 

Even a cloud to cast: 
Joy, to be wholly j^erfect, 

Must be a joy to last; 

And he knew that his own was fleeting 
For he read in the sacred Psalm, 

That man must fade as a flower, 
And it sometimes marred his calm. 

He turned to the holy Prophets, 

Security thence to draw ; 
He listened to Moses' teachings, 

And he strove to keep the Law; 

He tithed his anise and cummin. 
He tithed his mint and rue: 

He kiiew he had earth's best treasures, 
But he longed for heaven's too. 



In the mart of a busy city. 
It came to pass, one day. 

That a throng of curious people 
Were choking the narrow way ; 



THE YOUNG RULEB. 89 

All pressing with upturned faces, 

Eager to hear and see 
The miracle-working Rabbi 

Who had come to Galilee. 

Now, verily, what will it profit 
A man, though he gain the whole 

Of the world, with its utmost glory, 
If yet he should lose his soul? 

Come unto me, ye weary — " 

It dropped on the passing ear 
Of the young and happy ruler, 

For he could not choose but hear. 

He did not pause to listen 

As he skirted the crowd, but went 

Homeward athwart the city, 
Wrapped in his sweet content. 

Yet ever and oft the Teacher 

Rose to his inward eye; 
Over and over the question 

Waited his heart's reply. 



90 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Bliss that should be eternal, 
Pleasures that could not cloy, — 

These were the very blessings 
Needed to crown his joy. 

Again through the palm-girt highways, 
When noontide's sultry flame 

Was searing the happy vineyards. 
The wonderful Teacher came. 

And the ruler hailed his coming; 

For harvest or vintage cheer 
Never had silenced the question 

That troubled his restless ear. 

Hastening, he sought the Prophet 

Whose words had wrought the strife: 
" What shall I do, good Master, 
To inherit eternal life?" 

As he kneeled, so young and guileless,— 

Single in aim and art, — 
Jesus, beholding him, loved him, 

Though he read his inmost heart; 



THE YOUNG BVLEB. 91 

And he answered and said, as gently 
As father would say to son : 
" Thou knowest the Ten Commandments ?'* 
And he sjoake them one by one. 

A look that was half reproachful 
The eye of the Saviour met : 
"All these I have kept from my childhood; 
Good Master, what lack I yet?" 

And Jesus, beholding him, loved him, 

And a human sym^^athy stole, 
As he gazed on the earnest pleader, 

Deep into his sacred soul. 

Never diviner pity 

Melted the mournful eye, 
Never a tenderer yearning, 

Than softened the firm reply: 

" Only one thing thou lackest ; 
Forego thy heritage here — 
All of thy stored abundance, 
Everything heart holds dear; 



92 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

" Choose thee between the blessings — 
This or the life to be — 
Thou shalt have treasure in heaven 
If thou wilt follow me." 

A sudden surprised dejection 

Flooded the lifted face; 
Doubting and disappointment 

Darkened the wistful gaze. 

Verily, this was a doctrine 
Hard for the flesh, and sore ; 

This w^as a self-denying 
Never conceived before. 

Had there been half required. 
Then he might heed the call: 

Dignities, loves, possessions — 
How could he yield them all? 

Bitter the stern exaction 
Fell on his heart that day; 

And, wavering, — wishing, — choosing, — 
He sorrowfully went away. 



THE YOUNG RULER. 93 

Ye who have read and marveled 

That Jesus, who loved him, yet 
Should let him depart, nor hinder 

The choice he had clearly set, — 

Choose, as each earnest seeker 

Who findeth him truly, doth, 
Earthly or heavenly treasure — 

For ye cannot inherit both. 

Ye may be near the kingdom — 

Nearer than any know — 
And Jesus may love and pity, 

And yet, he may let you. go. 



THE LEOPARD-CUBS. 

/^UT in the offing lay the ship, one tropic 
summer day, 

That was to bear the teacher home — three thou- 
sand miles away — 

And, gathered for a last farewell, around him 
pressed a crowd 

Of dusky followers, on the beach, who wept and 
sobbed aloud. 



Upon the surf the native boat, waiting to waft 

him o'er 
The white-capped breakers, churned and chafed 

against the pebbly shore. 
His soul was sad with toil and pain, so lately had 

he won 
From rites of fetich savagery these children of 

the sun. 

94 



THE LEOPARD-CUBS. 95 

But soon the last good-bye was said, for he must 
be afloat, 

And with a prayer upon his lips he stepped into 
the boat ; 

And, stopping, heard a cry, and saw come rush- 
ing o'er the sand 

A lad who held a leopard-cub aloft in either 
hand : 



Mas' Teacher, take de boy along ! De pups dey 
no shall bite; 

Me keep him in me bosom close, an' watch him 
day and night. 

Dis eberyting me hab to bring for pay de cap- 
tain fee ; 

Me want to learn big English so, wid you across 
de sea !" 



Dim-eyed, the teacher left the shore, and o'er 

the breakers' swell 
He still could see the Grebo lad, as rose the 

boat and fell. 



96 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Lying in silent, hopeless grief, stretched out upon 

the sands. 
While in his breast the leopard-cubs nestled and 

licked his hands. 



THE LEGEND OF ST. GEORGE. 

'npWAS many and many an age ago 

— Who readeth should understand — 
That the tale I tell, they say, befell 
Afar in an Eastern land. 



In the pagan times of eld, it happed, 

When saintly martyrs died 
By flood and flame for the holy name 

Of Him who was crucified. 

In the oozy depths of a slimy marsh, 
Unfathomed, and foul, and deep, 

A dragon, wdiose food was human blood, 
His fearful lair did keep. 

With terror the frightened folk had fled 
For fear of his blasting breath. 

Yet day by day they sickened away 
In an atmosphere of death. 

97 



98 CHIMES FOR CHUBCH-CHILDBEN. 

And day by day that he come not nigh 

To poison the city's air, 
The lot they drew, and two and two 

They gave up their children fair 

Wherewith to feed the monster grim, 

Till heartening hope did fail, 
Till everywhere there was wild despair. 

And the streets were filled with wail. 

At length on the king's one daughter dear 

The terrible lot did fall, 
And he offered gold and treasures untold, 

Rank, glory and honors — all — 

To buy her life: but tliey said him: "Nay, 

Through thy command alone, 
Each day a twain of our's are slain. 

And darest thou grudge thine ownf* 

Then the Princess fell at the royal feet 
Like a hunted and wet-winged dove: 
— " My father, shall I forbear to die 

For the sake of the land I love?" 



THE LEGEND OF ST. GEORGE. 99 

So, all in her richest robes beclight, 

'Mid the sobs of women and men, 
With a bosom that shook, her course she took 

To the horrible dragon's den. 

As, weeping, her piteous doom she neared, 
It chanced that a Christian knight 

Did fare that way on his steed of gray, 
And he paused at the rueful sight: 

" O sorrowful maiden, whence thy tears ? 
And whitherward dost thou go?" 
And, all dismayed, his steps she stayed 
With the story of her woe. 

" God see and save," now cried the knight, 
" While I thy helper be ! 
For the name of Christ hath ever sufficed 
To bid all evil flee." 

To the dragon's lair forthwith he spurred. 

And therein the monster found. 
And with sudden advance he plunged his lance, 

And fastened him to the ground; 



100 CHIMES FOE CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

" Bring hither thy girdle, O Princess fair, 
To bind, withal, his strength ;" 
And the maiden she brought it, golden-wrought, 
And, knotting its sleaven length, 

Therewith he circled its steely scales, 

And in her quivering hand 
He laid the noose, soft-drawn and loose, 

Then gave her a quick command 

To utter the sacred name of Christ, — 
And she spake it in faith and grief; 

And for ever away, did flee that day. 
Her heathenish unbelief. 

Then slowly she to the city-gates 

The slimy horror drew. 
And the king and his men took heart again, 

And the dragon there they slew. 

Henceforward the name that the good St. George 

Thus taught them to adore. 
Through all their days, with heartiest praise, 

They worshiped for evermore. 



THE LITTLE PILGRIMS. 

WITH A PICTURE. 

OOILED with the dust of travel, 

Weary with wandering late, 
Two little lagging pilgrims 
Paused at the castle-gate. 

Sorely their feet had stumbled, 

Often they'd gone astray 
After the fruits and blossoms 

Scattered along their way; 

Many an hour they'd loitered 

Carelessly on ; yet who, 
Seeing the path was rugged, 

Would not have loitered too? 

Never a liand to check them, 
Never a smile to cheer; 

101 



102 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDREN. 

Shadowy memories only- 
Filling the childish ear. 

Once, as they idly dallied, 
Scallop and staff thrown by, 

Over them dropt a whisper 
Out of the silent sky. 

Up from their play they started, 
Wetted in haste their lips. 

Girded themselves for travel. 
Shouldered their scanty scrips, 

Speeding, as if belated, 
Hurriedly on their way. 

Softly the younger asking, 
" What did our mother say ?" 

" * Knock, and it shall be opened/ 
Ah! if the whisper stirs 
Both of our hearts so, surely — 
Surely the voice was hers! 



THE LITTLE PILGRIMS. 103 

"Cannot you mind her saying, — 

Stretching her arms to go, — 
*I will be with you nearer, 

Oftener, than you know ? 

"*Out of the skies I'll call you, 
Tenderly leaning through. 
Listen, with faces, darlings. 
Lifted toward the blue. 

* " Knock, and it shall he opened,^^ 

Seek, and I know you'll find, — 
These are the words I'll whisper 
When you are left behind.' 

" So I have heard her, brother. 
When we have tarried late, 
Calling us ' little pilgrims,' 
Bidding us seek the gate, 

" Telling us 'tis the pathway 
Out of this world of sin. 
Yonder I see the wicket : 
Come! let us enter in." 



BABY-FAITH. 

/^\H, beautiful faith of childhood ! How 

It beamed to-night on the upturned brow 
Of the little kneeler, who bent to say 
Her prayers, in her innocent, dreamy way ! 

"And doesn't my darling" (soft I said 
As I pressed my lijDS to the flossy head) 

" Long to be good, and by and by 
Go to a home in the happy sky, 
Away and away above yon star. 
Where all of the sweet child-angels are?" 

She lifted her drowsed and sleep-dewed eyes, 
And I saw a ripple of trouble rise, 
That shimmered across their haze of blue 
And kept the gladness from breaking through. 

" I think — I would like to go," — she said. 
Yet doubtingly dropped her silken head 

104 



BABY-FAITH. 105 

And clasped my hands in her fingers small ; 
" But then — I'm afraid that I might fall 
Out of the moon /" 

Her baby-eye 
Saw only an opening in the sky — • 
A radiant oriel whence the light 
Of heaven streamed wide athwart the night ; 
Where the angels lean, as they come and go, 
*Agaze at our world so far below. 

She mused a moment in pretty thought; 
Then suddenly every feature caught 
A glad, rare sparkle, and 1 could trace 
The dawn of the trust that flashed her face: 
" But God is good ; he will understand 
That I am afraid, and he'll take my hand 
And lead me in at the shining door. 
And then I shall be afraid no more!" 



THE LITTLE COMMENTATOK. 

f~^ EORGIE, my seven-year-old, 

Was reading one day to me 
That sweetest of stories ever told, 
As he stood beside my knee — 

The story of Jacob's sons, 

Of Joseph, his father's joy. 
And of all the cruel, wicked ones. 

And the motherless youngest boy. 

As he threaded the touching tale 
His wrath arose, and he said, 
"If I had been there at Joseph's sale, 
I'd punched old Reuben's head!" 

When he read how they found the cup 

In Benjamin's sack, his fair 
Face flushed, and he doubled his small fist up 

"The sneaks! Theij had put it there." 
106 



THE LITTLE COMMENTATOR. 107 

And when they confessed their sin 
With weeping, he sneered " Ah, hem ! 

I wonder if Joseph was taken in 
By crocodile-tears like themf 

When he read of the long array 

Of wagons to Jacob sent — 
Of the counsel to " fall not out by the way" — 

I questioned him what that meant. 

I saw in his critic eye 

A filial attempt to force 
Down disdain at the question: "Why, 

Fall out of the ivagons, of courser 



NUTTING. 

"TXTE've all been a-niitting to-day ; we have had 
Such honest enjoyment, so simj)le, so glad, 
So brimful of pleasure, so home-sweet, so bright. 
Would you like me to tell you about it to-night? 

The day was delicious — half sunny, half sober, 

Just one of the golden est days of October ; 

The mountains were wrapped like an Orient queen 

In an India mantle of scarlet and green ; 

All Nature was draped in her richest and best : 

I never have seen her more gorgeously dressed. 

Beyond the old mill, at the bend of the road, 
Our carriage unburdened its frolicsome load ; 
There the nuts that we sought in abundance were 

found, 
In their iioli-ine-tangere burrs strewn around. 

108 



NUTTING. 109 

In our drive we had talked of the skies and the 

air ; 
We had feasted on autumn-hues, changeful and 

fair ; 
We had breathed the rich odors of forest and 

hill, 
And of balm and of beauty had drunken our 

fill- 
Had each one said something quite witty to utter, 
And now we were ready for — biscuits and butter. 

The cloth being laid, it was spread in a trice 
From baskets full-burdened with everything 

nice — 
Cream, luscious and yellow ; brown coffee as rare 
As the daintiest Frenchman could wish for, was 

there ; 
Broiled chicken as tender and tootlisome as tho' 
Diana had even made game with her bow ; 
And butter as golden — as golden — I pause 
To think of a figure to fill up the clause — 
Well, w^e'll say, as the Fleece of the Argonauts 

was; 
And bacon, — Lord Verulam, grand epicure, 



110 CHIMES FOR CHURCH-CHILDBEN. 

Would have vowed it suggestive of Greece, I am 

sure ! 
Then the fair wheaten rolls, — why, they melted 

away 
As snow melts at noon on a warm winter day ; 
So that Harry had none, as it chanced to befall, 
To eat with his sixth cup of coffee, at all. 
Our dessert was wholly Arcadian ; our table 
Showed apples as fragrant as those of the fable 
Of Hesperus (pardon my pen ; it employs 
These classic allusions for sake of the boys) ; 
While the chestnuts we gathered, well stript of 

their skin 
And roasted, gave out their sweets hidden within. 

When dinner was over we called " Uncle Ben," 
And he and his axe went to hewing again ; 
Crack, crack ! came the tree : " All children from 

under !" 
And it crashed down its way with a boom as of 

thunder. 
Down, down rained the chestnuts — a ravishing 

sight 
That made all the little ones scream with delight. 



NUTTING. Ill 

Our fingers were pricked, but uo matter for them : 
Was there ever a rose with no thorn on the stem ? 
We trod out the burrs amid frolic and fun, 
And the woods rang with merriment till we were 
done. 

When the future comes, bringing us sorrow and 

joy, 

When tlie child of to-day is no longer a boy, 
When the girls at my elbow are youthful no more, 
And the beautiful dreams they're dreaming are 

o'er, — 
We'll store with our pleasantest relics away 
How haj^py we all were a-nutting to-day. 



THE END. 



